Trying to get things done when your back is completely screwed up is not easy.
I get a minimum done and have to stop and rest my back because the pain is too much.
Seems that just when my back was feeling better, The Curmudgeon fell down (he falls all the time and does it with skill so he seldom gets hurt) And he insisted I help him up.
Like a damned fool, I did, and out went my back again, this time worse than usual.
We don’t have any place to turn to for a moment of relief.
No one wants to hear our tales of woe.
There’s never any help when you need it unless you pay through the nose for it.
No one asks how you are but they always ask how she/he is.
People are quick to offer advice but never offer to help.
We often feel as if we’re losing our minds.
Maybe she’ll fix this chronic cough. She’s sending me for some pulmonary tests since she did a peak flow test on me and I didn’t do great on it. First time I’ve done one.
I never did test well.
Always hated tests, and the two others she has lined up for me rank at about #1 and #2 in tests I don’t want, know I should have, and my old doctor hasn’t ordered them done in many years.
Maybe I should have worn this shirt?
There are days where I can’t wait for him to go up for his afternoon nap or to bed for the night.
Days where his voice alone makes me cringe in a ‘now what the hell does he want?’ bend of mind.
Those are the days where I’ve blasted past exhausted and landed into the “I can’t do it any more” zone.
Once he’s gone to bed for whichever… I feel as though I can …maybe…breathe for a minute.
The stress-tightened iron bands around my chest loosen…a little.
All to soon, he wakens to begin the cycle again.
Release the Kraken!
It’s painful to watch The Curmudgeon allow himself to circle the drain. His doctors have recommended exercise, physical therapy, and even swimming.
He refuses saying they only make him hurt more.
Fine. If you’re determined to do a slow death spiral, go ahead, but I refuse to be a part of it.
I will no longer participate in your idiocy.
I refuse to be egged into daily battles.
In the meantime, I intend to work on my health and well-being.
After spending an hour and a half loading The Curmudgeon’s pill cases for the month, my eyes are tired, my back is killing me, my neck is stiff, and my head aches.
I do this every month.
Not once have I ever heard a thank you.
When I’d set my Mom’s pills up for her while she visited, she always said thank you to me and hers didn’t take half as long to do. But I only had set up a week at a time for her.
This is what I do for The Curmudgeon.
G had to postpone her staple removal to yesterday due to the snowstorm. She had a lot of staples in her knee and was crazy ready for them to come out.
After we left her doctor’s office, we went to the pharmacy to pick up her antibiotics and pain medication. She needs a delicate, light pain med or she’s off to lala land.
From there we came home and got her back into her house safe and sound.
Then I had to load Gavin into the car and take him to the vet’s office for his suture removal. That’s lifting 65 pounds of unwilling dog into the back of a van and coaxing him into a crate. It’s also lifting 65 lbs out, back in, and once home, out again and up the front steps.
What back pain…oh, you mean that…
Then after attempting to lift the downed Curmudgeon into his bed too many times tonight, I had to call 911 for help.
The guys from the nearby fire station know the routine pretty well and I was happy to see the familiar faces of the guys who were so sweet this summer and went over to G’s to get the AC she had and install it in my window. They always assure me it’s no problem to come and help him up when he has a bad day.
I’ve not been the nicest person to him, mainly because each demand he makes of me hasn’t helped my back pain. And each demand he’s made has been as soon as I’ve settled into a position where my back doesn’t hurt quite so bad.
Seriously, if I hit the lottery I am out of here. I cannot take much more without completely destroying my own mental and physical health. I’d leave him with a trust fund for his care but I am not now nor have I ever been a nurse. Being a nurse was never my career choice. Never. I am not the sort of person who can do the job, it is not a part of my being.
I can tile a floor and walls. I can break and train horses. Train and show dogs. Write. Garden. I have the credentials for veterinary assistant. I’ve done retail management and all sorts of office work.
I have NEVER had the desire to be a nurse.
Anyone wanting the job is welcome to it.
It seems that although that damned heart attack was 5 years ago, I still don’t have my old energy back.
I wake up tired, go to bed tired, and spend the day tired.
I have too much going on at home right now and need to take a week or so off from here.
Explanations will follow later.
Be kind to yourselves.
Gavin and Lucy send their wagging tail greetings.
We missed The Curmudgeon’s CT scan appointment yesterday because no one told us he had one. This is to recheck his lungs. We were told that we would get a call to tell us if they could schedule him in.
Never got a call.
We were home.
We did get a call to tell us he missed it.
Yesterday, The Curmudgeon showed a few signs of improvement. He drove his truck. He left me sleep.
After I’d taken care of the dogs early in the morning and he woke up, I told him I was going to go sleep in my bed until I had to get up to take him to his appointment. I was beyond cranky and tired.
I dutifully set my alarm so I didn’t sleep too late to get him to his appointment. When the alarm went off, I dressed and came downstairs to find him gone. His truck gone too.
He’d taken G to pick up her vehicle at the repair shop and got home in time for us to head out for his appointment at the dentist. He was a bit worse for the wear but not as bad as he would’ve been a week ago.
When we went to his appointment he was back on the walker, that little trip took a lot out of him. But that’s okay, it showed him that he’s improved a bit.
You all have a good one.
After much jangling about of our nerves all morning and well into the afternoon, and a long-winded, confusing, round about CYA conversation with an admin flunky, the hospital sent The Curmudgeon home.
No, they did not send him home with G and I after we waited around for a few hours.
Yes, they waited to break the news to him until after we’d gone to run errands and go home.
No, I was not a happy camper when I arrived home to 5 messages on the answering machine, 4 from The Curmudgeon and 1 from the admin flunky.
No, I wasn’t going to jump into my car and dash back over during rush hour to get him.
Yes, I was out of sorts, my back was killing me and I hadn’t sat down in hours.
Thank goodness for cooler head of The Curmudgeon’s best friend, who, after I begged him for help, was the one who brought The Curmudgeon home.
Funny how ALL the rehab hospitals refused him because of his expensive specialty medications. Funny how NO help is forthcoming from anyone.
Real funny how poorly this Multiple Sclerosis patient has been treated by everyone involved in his (lack of proper) care at St. Luke’s University Health Network http://www.slhn.org/
It is difficult enough to deal with your loved one falling apart, but to have no help is frustrating as hell. I think I’ve lost my sense of humor.
Is it any wonder that over 70 percent of MS marriages end in divorce?
I love him…but…
I go for a stress test today, I think I’ll pass with flying colors after this past week of crap.
I miss this man.